


and i can't sleep (not without you)

by megeggsalad



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Back Together, M/M, Sharing a Bed, anything else?, no i dont think so, so's kas but that isn't mentioned at all really, willy is bisexual sorry i dont make the rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 19:03:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10668882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megeggsalad/pseuds/megeggsalad
Summary: They’re in the playoffs, and they’re winning, and they both should be on top of the world--but here they are, too far apart to feel anything but heartbroken.





	and i can't sleep (not without you)

**Author's Note:**

> if you really wanna cry while reading this, listen to these: woke the fuck up by jon bellion, happier by ed sheeran, break in by halestorm, and a drop in the ocean by ron pope. i'm sorry in advance.

Willy can’t sleep.  


And it’s not like it isn’t hard to figure out why—he knows exactly what’s causing his insomnia.  


He tries not to think about it, but every time he closes his eyes, all he feels is the emptiness of his bed, the lack of warmth against his back, the absence of hands pressed against his stomach. Every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is Kas’s lazy, tired bedroom smile, Kas smiling at him as he wakes up in the morning, Kas looking fondly down at him, running a hand through his hair as he blinks the sleep out of his eyes.  


He can’t walk into his apartment or his bedroom or get into his bed without thinking about Kas, and that’s where it starts, really—because he can’t sleep without thinking about Kas, either, and usually wakes up with dream sensations of Kas next to him, tears in his eyes, and regret pooled in his stomach.  


And god, he knows why they called it quits. He knows, he understands, and more than anything, he regrets it.  


They’re in the playoffs, they’re doing incredible things on the ice—god, Kas has been doing such amazing things—and Willy can’t help but regret it all, if only a little bit, if it led them here.  


He just can’t fucking sleep.  


And maybe that’s why, after a few hours of tossing and turning, he gets up and puts a sweatshirt on, grabs his keys and slips on shoes, and quietly makes his way out of his apartment building. It’s two in the morning, and he’s more than a little desperate for rest. God, he’s so tired.  


When Kas opens the door to his apartment, he looks as exhausted as Willy feels, but his eyes fly wide open when he sees Willy.  


“Will,” he says, and his voice sounds somehow both hollow and shocked. He reaches out and puts a steadying hand on Willy’s shoulder, and even as Kas’s touch sends shivers of longing down his arm and into his stomach, he realizes he’s swaying.  


“I…” he trails off and looks away, suddenly uneasy about coming here. But then Kas moves his hand from Willy’s shoulder to Willy’s cheek, and strokes the dark circles under his eyes, just barely touching the darker skin with his thumb.  


“You look exhausted,” Kas says, quietly, and Willy’s just tired enough to lean into his touch and relish every second of it.  


He closes his eyes and says, “I don’t think I can sleep without you, right now.”  


“Will,” Kas says, and he sounds so choked up and heartbroken that Willy almost walks away from him, right then and there, without another word. He wishes, sometimes, that it wasn’t true, that Willy could sleep on his own and not reach for Kas every ten minutes—but it’s Kas, and he’s never really been able to resist Kas, even though he hates himself more than a little bit for doing this to them both.  


“I’m sorry,” he whispers.  


But it’s not like they ended things because they fell out of love, and when Kas pulls Willy close and presses Willy’s face into his chest, Willy isn’t shocked. He goes, like he always does, and grips at the back of Kas’s shirt, and tries not to cry.  


“Come inside,” Kas whispers into his hair, soft like he always is with Willy, and Willy nods.  


Kas lets go of Willy and doesn’t touch him again until they get to Kas’s bedroom. Kas had always taken the right side of the bed, and that hasn’t changed. The covers are thrown back and the sheets have obviously been slept on, but the left side, Willy’s side—  


It’s still perfectly made. Willy remembers putting his pillows exactly as they’re arranged now, the last morning they had before it all went to shit, remembers pulling the comforter up over them and chirping Kas a little for never making his side. It’s obvious no one else has been in here, at least other than Kas, since Willy left, and that—seeing traces of himself here, still—Willy can’t deal with that. He has to turn away from the sight of it. His stomach turns violently with the pain of it, and he squeezes his eyes shut.  


But suddenly Kas is there, right in front of him, tilting Willy’s face up and pressing their foreheads together. “I know,” he whispers to Willy, and the strength it takes Willy not to cry actually starts to hurt his head a little.  


“Kas,” he whispers, “I—“  


“Don’t, Will,” Kas cuts him off, and Willy’s heart shatters. “Let’s—let’s just go to bed. Please.”  


“Okay,” Willy somehow finds the strength to whisper, and Kas flinches a little, because Willy knows what he sounds like. He sounds close to tears and a little bit broken—exactly how he feels.  


They’re in the playoffs, and they’re winning, and they both should be on top of the world—but here they are, too far apart to feel anything but heartbroken.  


He strips off his sweatshirt and sweatpants, and when he climbs into bed with Kas, a small part of him settles at the familiarity of it. He knows how to do this, knows how this routine goes, knows exactly what’s about to happen.  


He’s right. Kas doesn’t even bother to try not to touch him. As soon as Willy’s under the covers, Kas pulls him close, just like he did every night when they were together. He slips his hands under Willy’s shirt, just to touch him, skin against skin, and Willy pretends for a second that he’s allowed to have this again. Kas’s fingers stroke up and down his back, and when they skate over a bruise Willy knows Kas didn’t realize was there, he can’t help but flinch. Kas starts to pull away, but Willy grabs his wrist and holds him there, and whispers, “It’s a bruise, Kas. It’s not you. It’s okay.”  


“I didn’t—I’m sorry,” Kas whispers back, and it hurts something deep in Willy’s heart, the realization that Kas doesn’t know every inch of his body—not any more. It’s a bruise Willy got during their second game in Washington, and usually Kas would’ve been the one to take care of him, to press ice to his back and kisses to his skin.  


“Shh,” Willy whispers to himself and to Kas, because his eyes are finally drooping—he finally feels like he could sleep. Without thinking, he lifts his head and presses a ghost of a kiss to Kas’s lips before nestling back into Kas’s chest. He doesn’t feel like he should regret it, but he thinks he might, in the morning.  


He thinks he hears Kas whisper, “I love you, Wills,” but he’s too far into sleep to know for sure, by then.  


***  


He wakes up to the feeling of a hand in his hair, stroking all the free strands away from his forehead. It hurts his heart in the best way, because he missed this, and now he has it again.  


There’s a voice in the back of his head whispering to him, reminding him it won’t last, but he ignores it, for now.  


Instead, he stretches his legs out a little and pushes into Kas’s hand, making a little noise of approval so Kas doesn’t stop.  


“You still like that,” Kas whispers. “I’m glad that hasn’t changed.”  


Kas’s hands slips out of his hair for a moment, but only to caress his cheek before he goes back to running his fingers through Willy’s hair. He must be propped up on an elbow, because Willy can’t feel Kas pressed against him.  


He almost falls asleep again, with Kas’s hand in his hair and Kas’s legs pressed against his, but he wants to feel this, wants to remember it, in case this is the last time he ever gets this.  


He thinks about his life without Kas in it: thinks about how well the team is still doing, how well the team will continue to do, thinks about how his game is elevating and how excited he is about that. Thinks about playing hockey until he retires, with Auston as his center and Zach as the other wing.  


Thinks about meeting a girl and falling in love with her, and her falling in love with him, despite all of the hockey and the difficulties that comes with loving a professional hockey player, just like what happened with his mom and dad. Thinks about having a family with her, thinks about teaching their kids to play hockey in the back yard.  


And Willy realizes, with sudden, incredible clarity, how much he doesn’t want any of it, if he can’t have Kas with him. Kas, who left Willy’s side of the bed made in case he ever came back. Kas, who knows Willy loves waking up with a hand in his hair. Kas, who always knows exactly what Willy is trying to say, even when he can’t quite get the words out. Kas, who has always touched Willy as if he were doing it for the first time, who has always made sure Willy felt safe under his hands.  


When Willy finally opens his eyes, they’re lined with tears that spill over when he sees the way Kas is looking at him: the way Kas always looks at him, like he’s the sun Kas’s world orbits around.  


He sits up fast and covers his face with his hands, because he can’t--he can’t look at this right now, can’t do it. Can’t face everything he regrets and everything he loves more than anything in this world at the same time.  


Part of him wants to be as far away from Kas as humanly possible, because he can’t make himself want this again. He just—he can’t.  


But the other part, the much, much bigger part, that longs for Kas like nothing else in the world matters sometimes—that’s the part of him that lets out a sob when Kas wraps his arms around Willy, squeezing him hard but not hard enough that he can’t breathe. He’s cried so much over the past few weeks, alone in his apartment, alone in his bed, and he’s just wanted Kas so bad, wanted Kas to be there and to hold him, and now—now he is, and it still hurts so, so bad.  


It takes him a minute to realize Kas is crying, too, pressing his face against Willy’s shoulder, just letting his tears fall silently onto Willy’s shirt.  


Willy tries to stop his tears so he can comfort Kas, and it only sort of works. His body stops shaking and he runs his hands through Kas’s hair, even as his own tears continue to fall.  


Kas had wanted to tell the team. Had wanted to tell his family, had wanted to come out to the people close to them. But Willy—he hadn’t been ready for that, at all. His anxiety had gotten the better of him, and he’d suddenly started worrying about everything: if someone would catch them, if they’d accidentally out themselves, if the team found out and didn’t approve.  


That’s why they’d ended things. Willy had come home and Kas had kissed him without closing the door first, and Willy—he’d nearly thrown up through the anxiety. Kas had talked him through it, but that was it, for Willy—he couldn’t do it anymore. Not when everything sent his heart pounding and vision spinning.  


He just—he couldn’t, so he’d sat Kas down and told him why, and he hadn’t regretted it until he went to bed that night and was unable to sleep in his own bed, his own apartment, because it wasn’t Kas’s. He hadn’t regretted it until he’d woken up from a fitful six-hour sleep and reached for Kas, and realized he wasn’t there.  


Getting caught still terrified him, but—not as much, and certainly not as much as going through life without Kas right next to him.  


He presses his cheek against the top of Kas’s head and whispers, “Why are we still pretending we’re okay with this?”  


It takes Kas a minute, but he says, “I don’t know.” He lifts his head and presses his forehead to Willy’s, and Willy cups his face, wiping his tears away. He can tell Kas has more to say, so he stays quiet.  


“I was going to ask you to stay and make coffee,” Kas whispers, and then laughs a little. It’s small and quiet and hurts Willy’s heart. “I can’t seem to—you have this way of making it, and I can’t do it right.” Willy smiles, a little, because that’s actually really true—Kas was always shit at making coffee. “I see you in everything around here, Wills. I sit down to watch TV and I can’t not picture you next to me, with your feet in my lap or curled up into my side. I get up in the morning and reach for you—first thing, every morning, that’s what I do. I get home after practice or games and realize I’m alone all over again, and I just—I don’t think it’s worth it, all of this. Not without you.” There are tears in Willy’s eyes again. “I know I stopped you from saying it last night, but I woke up this morning and reached for you and you were actually there, and I just—I realized how much I missed you, how much I love you, and how much I’d be willing to give up to keep you in my life.”  


“I love you, too, Kas,” Willy whispers, and closes his eyes. “I love you so much, and sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe without you in my life. I still—I still don’t want to be the first, not yet. I don’t know if I can handle that. But I think—I could tell my parents, and yours, and that would make things easier, and we could tell the team, and Babs—if, I mean, only if you want. To try again.”  


“Willy,” Kas whispers, and Willy opens his eyes. Kas covers Willy’s hands with his own. “We can do all those things. We can try again—god, of course we can try again, but we can only do all of those things if you want to. Only if you’re completely comfortable doing them. I want you, and I want us to be open with our teams and our families, but if having you means we still need to keep us a secret, I’m willing to do that. I never realized—I’m sorry I pushed you so hard about it. You’re more important, your comfort in whatever relationship we have is more important than making us public.”  


God, Willy loves this man. “I know, Kas,” Willy murmurs, stroking Kas’s cheeks. “Like I said, I still don’t want to be first, not now, but—but the other things, I want to do. I want to be open with my family and the team. I’m more than willing to do that. And it wasn’t your pushing, really, you didn’t do much of that—it was more me, and my anxiety.”  


Kas doesn’t look like he’s about to cry, any more, but he does look emotional, and Willy slides his hands into Kas’s hair again, just to calm him. Kas rests his own hands on Willy’s neck, stroking his thumbs over Willy’s jawline.  


“So,” Kas says, barely contained emotion making his voice tight. “Does this mean—are we—”  


“Together?” Willy finishes for him, and gives Kas a little smile. “Yes, if you want.”  


“I want,” Kas replies, instantly. “God, Willy, I want that so much.”  


“Okay then,” Willy whispers, and his heart feels so full Willy thinks it might burst. “We’re together.”  


Kas grins so wide it makes Willy laugh, and then Kas tackles him, pushing him into the covers. He hovers over Willy and asks, “Is this okay?”  


“Anything you want is okay,” Willy confirms, and there’s that smile again.  


Kas just leans down and presses his mouth to Willy’s cheekbone, holding his lips there for a second and then moving to the other side of Willy’s face and kissing his other cheekbone. Willy slides his hand under Kas’s shirt and up his back and lets out a little sigh, just so his breath ghosts across Kas’s skin. He feels Kas shiver above him, but that doesn’t stop Kas from going as slow as he pleases, pressing soft, gentle kisses all over Willy’s face: his forehead, nose, jawline, and then, finally, lips. Willy kisses him back and presses Kas’s body closer.  


He wants Kas—of course he does, he always does—but he doesn’t think they need sex, right now. He just wants to be close to him, just wants to touch Kas and let Kas touch him back, wants to press his lips to Kas’s for no reason other than that he can.  


So he does. He traces his fingers over Kas’s back as they kiss, running his fingertips over the familiar ridges of Kas’s spine and then over his ribs and stomach. Kas seems to want the same thing he does, because though he presses closer to Willy the longer they kiss, he doesn’t do much else, just keeps himself propped over Willy with both arms, idly playing with what hair he can reach.  


Eventually, Kas pulls back a little and runs a searching look over Willy’s face. Willy smiles at him, but Kas just keeps looking. After a minute, Willy realizes what he’s doing: he’s memorizing every single detail of Willy’s face, committing it all to memory. Willy lets him look his fill—he’s content to lay here forever, if that’s what Kas wants. It would significantly lessen their time on the ice together, but Willy would do it.  


After a while, Kas presses one more, very purposeful kiss to Willy’s mouth, and whispers, “I love you, William Nylander.”  


Willy hums into Kas’s mouth, and kisses him again before whispering, “And I love you, Kasperi Kapanen.”  


Kas smiles against his mouth, and presses his forehead against Willy’s, and they lay there for a few more minutes, mouths brushing and breaths mixing. Willy knows, though, that they have to get up eventually.  


“So,” he whispers, and Kas blinks at him. “Coffee?”  


Kas laughs out loud, and it’s the best sound Willy’s heard in weeks.

**Author's Note:**

> ...i literally cried like three times in front of my whole family while writing this. i did apologize in advance, right? but anyways, i hope you liked it!!


End file.
